Page 79 of Hacking the Holidays
“Wow—I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Sam said.
“He was in a coma for three weeks and, thank God, he survived,” I said. “But I found out later, after the investigation, that my so-called friend had set me up to make me look incompetent—to damage my credibility since I was next in line for a promotion. A personal vendetta disguised as a credible tip.”
“That is horrible, but that’s not on you,” Sam said. “The only person to blame is the one who falsified the information and created the situation.”
“I’m the one who pulled the trigger.” The words came out flat, mechanical—the same ones I’d repeated to myselfa thousand times. “Someone with my training and IQ should have assessed the situation better. I was supposed to be smarter than that.”
“Stop.” Sam’s hand covered mine on the table. “That’s not how this works. Intelligence doesn’t make you immune to manipulation. That was one hundred percent betrayal.” His tone turned fierce. “And beating yourself up for being human—for trusting people who didn’t deserve it—that’s just giving them more power over you.”
I looked up at him, my vision blurring. “After that, everything fell apart. I transferred to a desk job because I couldn’t risk making another mistake. I cut myself off—from friends, from fieldwork, from anything that required me to trust my own judgment, let alone other people.” My voice cracked. “I figured if I wasn’t around people, I couldn’t hurt anyone, and they couldn’t hurt me. And then I got sent here, and look what happened. I’ve ruined everything. This could have been something.”
“Could have?” Sam’s expression shifted, something sharp flashing in his eyes. “What do you mean bycould have? Thisissomething. I’m crazy about you.”
I blinked several times, analyzing what he’d said. It was unexpected and made my heart race in the best possible way.
“I’m crazy about you, too,” I admitted, and it felt so good to say it out loud. “But how can we make this work? I work for the FBI, and you are …”
“An archivist,” he said firmly. “And a guy who volunteers as Santa and occasionally fixes wood-burning stovesfor people in the community.” He leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. “What if that was all I was? Just an ordinary man.”
There was nothing ordinary about Sam Monroe. He was an extraordinary man, like nobody I’d ever met.
“Would that be enough for you to give us a chance and see what happens with this?” he added. “Because I have a very good feeling about us.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? Because I would never ask someone to give up their passion to be with me.”
“I’m saying there are multiple paths to the same destination,” Sam said. “I have an idea. Let’s get out of here.”
We grabbed our food to go, then headed out. As we walked, I let my thoughts drift, dangerous and sweet. What would it be like to live here? To walk these streets every day, to know the same people Sam knew, to be part of this community? To hold his hand as we strolled through downtown. To wake up in the morning and see his face on the pillow next to mine?—
“Where are you going?” Sam interrupted my thoughts.
I stopped, completely confused. “I thought we were going to the bookstore.” I pointed down the street.
Sam gestured to the building directly in front of us. “You mean the one you’re standing in front of?”
I glanced up at the sign above my head.
A Book For All Seasons.
“I knew that—I just wanted to see if you were paying attention,” I said with a smirk.
After we entered, and the employee said hello to Sam, he made a beeline for the display near the children’s section.
“Look at this,” he said, picking up a wooden puzzle carved and painted like an elaborate dragon. “It’s got moving parts—see? The wings actually flap.” He was like a kid himself, his whole face lighting up as he examined it. “And these building blocks—they’re magnetic, so you can build in any direction, not just up. That’s brilliant.”
His enthusiasm was completely genuine.
“Are those for yourself?” I asked with a smile, even though I was sure I knew the answer.
Sam looked up, startled, as if he’d forgotten I was there. “What? No, these are for donations. The shelter, the community center, and a few families I know.” He held up the dragon puzzle. “This one’s for Miguel. He’s seven and obsessed with dragons. His mom’s working two jobs and can’t afford anything extra right now. The building blocks are for Alex, the snowplower’s son.”
“You know their names,” I said. “The kids.”
“Of course I know their names.” He said it like it was obvious. Like, there was no other way to be.
He continued shopping, and I found myself helping—pointing out a book series I’d loved as a kid. We debated the merits of various books and board games. The employee had to help us carry everything to the front counter.
At the register, the total came to $787.43.
